The Space Between
by lacemonster
Summary: Based on a tumblr ask/prompt for: "a DickTim fic centering around their relationship over the years but mainly around the time of Tim's father and Bruce's death." Focused on investigating Bruce's disappearance, Tim has been avoiding the cave, until Dick runs into Tim at a safehouse.


**Warnings** : canonical character death; age difference

 **Pairings** : Dick Grayson/Tim Drake

 **Summary** : Based on a tumblr ask/prompt for: "a DickTim fic centering around their relationship over the years but mainly around the time of Tim's father and Bruce's death."

Focused on investigating Bruce's disappearance, Tim has been avoiding the cave, until Dick runs into Tim at a safehouse.

 **Credits** : This is a non-profit, fanmade work. All characters are owned by DC. This fanfiction was written and created by me.

 **A/N** : To celebrate my 100 followers on tumblr, I accepted 5 prompts to write shortfics for. This is one of them.

I always get the worst Tim feels around this era in canon, given all the tragedies he faced. This is meant to be a DickTim fic but there's a lot of angst/hurt involved, so it's probably not as shippy as it should be. You could probably read this as DickTim gen.

But anyways, as the summary states, this takes place around the time Bruce has disappeared and Dick has become Batman and Tim has become Red Robin.

Content warning for Bruce's supposed death and for the age difference between Dick and Tim.

* * *

Tim stopped by the eastern hideout every now and then for supplies. The sun was just beginning to rise over the bay, marking the end of patrol hours. He followed the standard security procedures for the building, entering a passcode for the final set of doors which opened up. The hideout didn't have the earthy smells of the batcave. The air was stale and smelled of rubber tires, reminding Tim briefly of his parents' garage. He was met with silence instead of Alfred's greetings, overhead lights flickering on one by one, serving as his acknowledgment.

Tim didn't take off his mask or uniform, even though he was dying to. His feet ached, he was starting to feel the sweat that was trapped under his uniform, all from a long and unforgiving patrol. In order to put the night behind him, all he needed was to grab some things and then he could head back to Titans Tower.

He was standing near the equipment table when he caught a reflection in the polished steel. His head jerked up, startled—but he refrained from showing his surprise when he finally turned around.

On the upper level, Dick stood with his arms crossed over the railing. His cowl was pulled back and he looked back at Tim with naked eyes. Tim paused long enough to glance around the room uncomfortably, taking a moment to calm his rattled nerves.

"Does sitting around in the dark come with the uniform?" he called up to Dick.

Maybe it did, but the smirk that greeted Tim certainly did not. That smile would always be a Dick Grayson trademark.

"It wasn't completely dark," Dick said casually. "The lowlights were on."

Dick skipped the stairs and hopped off the balcony, the black pointed cape flying behind him. A grandiose entrance, in Tim's opinion, but he always liked the way Dick moved. It might have warranted a jest though—but when Tim opened his mouth to say something, no words came.

There was a time when jokes came easily. Dick and Tim could bounce off of each other for hours. Like brothers or something. They used to drive Bruce mad with it. But Bruce was gone and conversations had become difficult. Bridging that gap, reaching across the table, was _difficult_. Tim could feel the distance, even if it was never spoken on.

"What are you doing here?" Dick asked.

"Picking up a few things," Tim said easily enough. But there was this steady look in Dick's eyes. Like he was watching him. Tim tried diverting the attention placed on him: "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Would you believe me if I said that I was hoping to run into you?"

"You could have called if you needed me."

"And you could have come to the cave if you needed to pick some things up."

Tim didn't know what to say.

He could hear Dick's light footsteps as he closed the distance between them. Tim turned away, returning to the equipment table, and started to pack his things. So he could go home, wherever that was. To put the night behind him. Batarangs, smokebombs, medical supplies—as he looked at each one, Tim knew it was true. All of these things he could have gotten at the cave. But he didn't.

He could have made some excuses—wanting to avoid Dick's sidekick being one of them—but once again, Tim's words were lost to him.

"I've been busy," he managed, attaching batarangs to his belt. "The Titans have been shortstaffed, so…"

Tim let the last few words hang in the air, hoping the reminder there was enough to get Dick off his back. Tim started going through the drawers, trying to find a different grappling line. Dick said nothing, but his shadow seemed to follow Tim.

"Remember what we talked about after Bruce died?"

Dick's voice was close. Tim could feel it. They had lots of conversations after Bruce's disappearance. Lots of silences too. But Tim knew exactly what Dick was referring to. Tim continued to dutifully grab his things, never looking up. He was afraid to look up.

Dick went on, unprompted:

"We said we weren't going to do things his way. We were going to stay a team. We weren't going to push each other away—"

"I'm not pushing you away," Tim said, facing Dick. He caught the raised inflection in his voice, even before he saw the quiet concern in Dick's eyes. The drawer slid shut on its own, the metal clanging with a sound. Tim lowered his voice, trying to fix his tone. "I've been busy."

"That's what I'm worried about," Dick said after a moment. Tim's pouches were getting heavy and his gaze quickly travelled back to the floor. "It's okay to take a break. All this time you spend looking into Bruce's death—it worries me."

"I wish you'd stop calling it that. You make me sound crazy."

"We buried him, Tim."

"There was no body to bury."

"I wish he wasn't gone but—"

"You _do_ think I'm crazy."

"I think you're in denial."

"I have to go," Tim said, moving toward the exit. But as he passed Dick, Dick suddenly took hold of him. Tim's face went hot when he was pulled into Dick's embrace, practically faceplanting into Dick's chest.

Despite Dick's embarrassing coddling and all of the stresses on Tim's mind urging him to leave, all of the fight in Tim seemed to drain at once. He sighed heavily into Dick's body, his arms returning the hug, fingers weakly curling around the cape.

"You are like him, you know."

"Because I push people away."

"Because you don't give up."

"It'd be easier to give up," Tim confessed, voice muffled. He meant it—but he also saw the impossibility in that. Dad, Stephanie, Conner, Bruce… it'd be easier just to forget them all. Easier to hang up the cape and mask and try to be a kid again. To put all the nights, the several years of it, behind him. Far away from the lifestyle of self-sacrificing superheroes who didn't give up. But his family and friends and his heart were gone and he couldn't go back.

"I don't want you think that I've given up," Dick said, voice a touch quieter. And Tim paused, sensing something in his tone. Something abnormally insecure.

It scared Tim a little.

"No, of course not. You were closer to him than anyone," Tim said, finally pulling away. He hung his head for a moment, a hand fixing his hair. He felt an emotion sitting at the bottom of his chest. Dick always had this special gift of being both strong and vulnerable. It always affected Tim deeply, in multiple ways.

"I'm not talking about Bruce," said Dick. At that, Tim could feel his heart skip, and it suddenly occurred to Tim that maybe he was afraid to look at Dick in the case that he felt it again. After a moment, Dick added in an almost defeated tone, "I suppose I've been busy too."

More words sat at the tip of Tim's tongue. Things that he wished he could ask. If Dick really believed that Bruce was gone. If he could ever go back to being Robin again. And things that he wished he could say. That if Tim _could_ go back, all he wanted were for things to be normal again—not to his pre-Robin days, no. He wanted to go back to before all this grief, to the three of them on rooftops, to when they could bounce jokes off of each other and it all felt… _normal_. And there were other things, too.

But Tim, for all the way he tried to be like Dick, for all the ways he admired Dick, couldn't bring himself to become him. He couldn't be strong and vulnerable.

So the words stayed inside of him.

"I really do have to go," Tim said. He quickly added, "I'll see you around."

"Tim," Dick said, before Tim could reach the exit. Tim looked back at Dick, who was still standing there, the cowl sitting past his shoulders. And there was a moment where Dick's eyes seemed to reel him in, daring him to move in closer. To close that distance. But for whatever reason, Dick was the first to look away, and said, "Don't work too hard."

Despite himself, Tim shrugged a little.

"It's what I do," he said, and he headed for the exit.


End file.
